Love Finds You in North Pole, Alaska (16 page)

A strange sensation came over him, an undeniable warmth that swirled around his heart, making it tick a beat faster as his pulse pounded harder. It reminded him of the many times he’d gulped too-hot coffee in his rush to hit the road running. He’d tried hard to keep things between them professional, if not platonic, and Bryce couldn’t figure out how or when he’d fallen for her.

Maybe it had something to do with the fact that Sam was forever doing kind things like this….

Sure enough, there on the microwave’s turntable sat a perfectly iced, golden cake, with toothpicks sticking out of it to keep the plastic wrap from sticking to the glaze. He gathered what he’d need—a knife for slicing, a plate to put it on, a fork to eat it with—and poured himself a mug of coffee as he waited for the appliance to
ping
.

Eyes closed, he pictured the way she’d looked when he whipped off the eye patch last night. The scar didn’t make her recoil, as it had a few of the women he’d dated. And knowing he’d likely never see out of that eye again hadn’t fazed her in the least, either.

But it had been the look in her eyes, telling him that if she could, she would have erased the injury and everything leading up to it, that had made him grab her pretty little face in his big rough hands. She’d been close enough to kiss, and for the life of him, he didn’t know what had kept him from doing just that. If she’d sensed how much restraint it had taken him to hold back, Sam gave no hint of it.

And like magic, she appeared in the doorway. Backlit by sunshine that pounded through the window behind her, she looked more like a vision than a real live girl.

“Good morning,” she said, smiling. Smiling and blinking those heart-stopping eyes of hers.

She’d worn the pink dress, just as he’d asked her to, and knowing she’d had other options touched him. “I knew you’d look gorgeous in that,” he said, not giving a thought to the fact that he was probably drooling icing down his chin, “and I was right.”

Sam placed a tiny white purse on the table and then hung a length of sheer fabric that matched her dress over the back of the nearest chair. And standing as far from the counter as possible, she poured herself a cup of coffee. “It’d be just like me,” she said, sitting across from him, “to spill something on myself before I even leave the house.”

Watching her, Bryce wondered how a woman could look fresh-faced and innocent yet spellbinding at the same time. “Good cake,” he said instead.

“My brothers’ favorite.”

“So what time are you leaving for the church?”

“Well, I kind of hoped I could ride over there with you. I know it’s a nice day and not a very long walk, but in these…?” Sam held out one little foot to show him an almost-white, high-heeled shoe. “Last thing I need is to end up with my heel stuck in a grate.”

He hadn’t planned to drive, for the very reasons she’d outlined. Once winter set in, enjoying warm weather would be a dim memory, and he’d learned to take advantage of every opportunity to be outdoors. “I don’t know about you riding in that old rattle trap wearing…” He waved his hand around, not knowing what style of dress it was. “…
that
.”

“I’ll throw a towel on the seat and try not to touch anything.” She sipped the coffee. “Seven brothers, remember?”

He did. And he’d meet one of them in a matter of days. Now why should that make him feel nervous?

The question so stunned him that he bit down too hard on his last bite of cake, clamping his tongue between molars.

“Don’t you just hate it when that happens?” she asked, one hand on his shoulder. “I can’t name many things that hurt as much as…”

Sam withdrew her hand and inhaled a sharp little breath, the look on her face telling him she thought she’d committed a serious blunder by comparing something so trivial to his battle scars.

“My own dumb fault,” he said, wanting to relieve her of that worry. He rose and began rinsing his plate in the sink. “Well, do you have everything ready? To prep the church, I mean?” He groaned. “Oh, shoot. I’ve splashed stuff all over my shirt!”

She was beside him in a heartbeat, daubing at the damp spots with a dry dishtowel. “Might just be water,” she said. “If that’s the case, you’ll be stain-free.” And then she made a thin line of her usually generous lips and emitted a tiny growl. “On second thought…this dumb thing is starched to high heaven. If they used that cheap stuff most dry cleaners prefer, you’ll end up with a wavy little yellow line around every single wet spot.” While Sam fussed over the shirt, blotting and patting and chattering on about the spot, the nearness of her, together with the glint of sunlight in her dark curls and the faint scent of her shampoo wafting into his nostrils, made him deaf to anything but the musical pattern of her speech.

His intent, after leaving her apartment last night, had been to go home and pray that God would give him some direction as to whether he should continue to distance himself from her or else pursue whatever was developing between them. But he’d fallen asleep instead and spent a long, peaceful night dreaming about her. The energized, upbeat mood that greeted him the instant he opened his eyes had been pleasant, but he couldn’t count on it being a sign from above.

“There,” she said, hanging the towel on the swing-arm rack attached to the window frame, “I think that’s it.” She grabbed her purse and her flimsy shawl and then hefted the canvas bags that held the satin bows. Plunking both near the door, she slid two shallow boxes from a shelf in the refrigerator.

Peering over her shoulder, Bryce admired her handiwork. “Hey, those turned out great,” he said while she adjusted a bow on the biggest bouquet.

“This one’s Olive’s, and that’s Millie’s. Duke gets this boutonniere and you get that one,” she said, pointing at each in turn.

But all he saw were the fingernails she’d coated with pearly pink polish. Bryce swallowed and slapped a hand to the back of his neck. “I’ll, uh, pull the truck closer to the door,” he said, grabbing a couple of kitchen towels from the drawer beside the sink. Tucking them under one arm, he opened the door. “For the seat,” he explained, “so you won’t get your dress dirty. Meet you out front.”

He shot down the stairs like a bullet from a gun, knowing if he stood there a moment longer, looking into her beautiful eyes, he might be tempted to mess up her lipstick. “Lord, Lord, Lord,” he muttered as he stuffed the bags behind the driver’s seat, “You’d better show me a sign real soon, or I’m the one who’s gonna be in a mess!”

After a heartfelt thanks to Bryce for helping her with the decorations, Sam ducked into the women’s room to touch up her makeup. There she found the president and vice president of the Ladies Auxiliary leaning into the mirror above the double-bowled vanity.

“I think we should sit on the groom’s side,” Mabel was saying as she patted a powder puff to each chubby cheek.

Arlene blotted her lipstick on a sheet of brown paper towel. “Oh, I don’t know…Olive and I have been friends for years and years.”

“Good morning, ladies!” Sam said, stepping up beside them. “Don’t you both look gorgeous today!”

Mabel batted heavily mascaraed eyes. “Said the kettle to the pot. You look wonderful in that color.”

“Please,” Arlene injected. “Samantha is the type who’d look good in army green.”

As the women shared a friendly giggle, Mabel elbowed Sam. “What do you think, dear, about helping fill out Duke’s side of the church?”

“I think it’s a great idea. As well loved as Olive is, the church is likely to tilt to the left if we don’t do our best to balance it!”

Arlene sighed. “Do what you please,” she said, snapping her makeup bag shut. “
I’m
sitting on Olive’s side.” Tucking it into her flowered purse, she added, “Why, I haven’t even been formally introduced to the groom.”

“Neither have I,” Mabel admitted, tidying the black satin bow at the collar of her paisley print dress. “But really now, who in North Pole could claim to have Amy Vanderbilt’s etiquette book memorized, chapter and verse?” Laughing, she turned to Sam. “Have you met him, dear?”

“I have, and he’s a delight. Former marine, just like Bryce.” She winked. “He’s dark and handsome, with a Texas drawl and enough charm to talk the leaves from the trees.”

It was Mabel’s turn to sigh. “Oh, I’ve always
loved
a man in uniform—and a man with a Southern accent. Guess that explains the whirlwind romance, eh?” And with a wink of her own, she added, “I’m glad I got here early.”

“Why?” Arlene asked.

“So I can sit as close to the front of the church as possible and study him all during the ceremony, of course.” She cupped a hand beside her mouth. “Just don’t tell Ernie!”

And with that, all three women exited the ladies’ room.

Naturally, Sam was looking forward to watching as Olive began the rest of her life with the man of her dreams. But she couldn’t help hoping the wedding would start on time so she could watch
Bryce
up there on the altar beside Duke.

“Pity, isn’t it, that the groom’s son couldn’t be here to be his father’s best man,” Mabel said.

“Oh, yes…a pity,” Arlene agreed as Frank and Ernie approached, each poking out an elbow for his wife.

As the women strode down the aisle on the arms of their husbands, Sam scoped out the church. A quick peek at her watch confirmed that the ceremony wouldn’t begin for another twenty minutes yet, so it surprised her that, already, so many of the pews were filled. The fact that so many North Pole residents, like Mabel and Arlene, had decided to take up residence on Duke’s side of the church made her smile.

She spotted Barney, former owner of the house that was in the process of becoming The Duke and Duchess B and B, in the third row, along with his wife and teenaged sons. Curt the barber sat behind them, flanked by his assistant. Sam didn’t recognize the woman and three young children up front.

She shouldn’t have been surprised to see Dan Brooks, one arm draped across the shoulders of a big beautiful blond. Duke had mentioned at dinner that he hoped his temporary landlord would accept his invitation to the ceremony because, in his words, “That boy knows how to make a man feel at home!”

Sam slid into an empty pew about halfway back and moved toward the outside end of the pew. Anyone watching would assume she’d done it so that others joining her in that row wouldn’t have to climb over her, but in reality, she’d done it because it would give her an unobstructed view of the altar where, in only moments, she’d get to watch Bryce fiddle with his clip-on bow tie and tug at the stiff cuffs of his starched shirt.

He’d amazed her earlier, willingly attaching gargantuan white satin bows to each pew. It had been Bryce’s suggestion that she stand at the back of the church, guiding him as he positioned the flowerpots alongside the altar to assure proper balance. “Oh, the pressure!” she’d said when they finished.

“Pressure?”

“If moving mums and daisies an inch this way, a half inch that way can give me a stress headache, think what those poor guys who guide seven-forty-sevens onto the runways feel like at the end of their work days!”

His big, booming laugh had echoed throughout the church, making her wish she had a better sense of humor, because she would love to encourage more of it.

“Hey, you gonna hog this whole pew or can the lowly nephew of the bride share it with you?”

“Bryce! What are you doing here? You’d better get up
there
!” Sam pointed at the altar, then at her watch. “The wedding ceremony will start in two minutes, and I’m sure Duke is a nervous wreck back there in the groom’s room, wondering where you—”

“Groom’s room,” he echoed, chuckling. “I thought it was called the Panic Room.” Then he bent over and, leaning close, said, “Relax…Duke’s son arrived first thing this morning to do the ‘best man’ honors. It’s a surprise, so Duke won’t know until he steps out of the sacristy and sees him.”

Sam slid farther into the pew, understanding now the identities of the woman and children sitting in the front row. “Oh, wow, that’s wonderful,” she said as Bryce sat beside her. “Duke will be thrilled!”

He tugged at the too-tight collar of his shirt.

“Relax,” she echoed. “You look great.”

A blush crept into his cheeks as the first quiet strains of Alma Peters’ prelude hymns began, and he held a finger to his lips. “Shhhh,” was his teasing admonishment, “you’re calling attention to yourself.”

Giggling quietly, Sam shook her head. “Oh, right…this from the guy who’s wearing a tuxedo to a ‘casual Friday’ wedding.”

Suddenly, an invisible, eye-smarting fog of flowery perfume came between them as Bea Nixon leaned forward. “Honestly,” she snapped, “you two are behaving like a couple of unruly children.” She pointed a white-gloved finger. “If my Sunday school students behaved this way, I’d stand them in a corner, quick as a wink!”

“Sorry, Miz Nixon,” he said. The woman barely had time to slide back into place before he grabbed Sam’s hand and gave it a squeeze. “Troublemaker.”

Biting her lower lip, Sam stared straight ahead, unable to decide which she liked more…the fact that he hadn’t let go of her hand when Alma pounded out those first rib-racking notes of “The Wedding March,” or the way it made her heart feel like it had swelled to twice its normal size.